


Candy-Apple Red

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin tempts Joey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy-Apple Red

**Author's Note:**

> set during the chair of sex shoot. hopefully part of a series. other than that, well, um, I got nothing.

When Justin slinks into the chair, Joey's mouth goes Sahara-dry and he's suddenly, blissfully grateful for the concealing darkness of the studio. The lights burn Justin's skin white, the gloss of his curls a crowning halo that's undermined by the hot devilish gleam of his dark eyes.

Joey wants to touch him. Justin's too fucking hot for words, with his sullen pout, his low-slung glare, defiant eyes; when he gives the camera a knowing smirk, Joey's blood bubbles and pops.

He imagines standing in front of Justin, meeting the lazy smile with one of his own. He can almost taste Justin's mouth, smooth, sweet as candy, opening easily for him and the slick rasp of their tongues would leave him breathless, hungry for more. Justin's mouth is a slice of red, candy-apple, cherry, and he'd devour it.

He'd yank the layered shirts off just to see Justin's smooth skin gleam in the harsh studio lights, and he'd let Justin strip him carelessly of his loose sweater and undershirt. Justin's leather pants, despite their loose, open fit, would be tented at the crotch, a distinct bulge of shining leather, but no, not yet, because Justin has to redeem that candy-apple smirk first.

Joey sees himself unbuttoning his black pants and Justin reaching eager long-fingered hands, musician's hands, to tug the stiff length of Joey's cock free of impeding fabric, unsnapping the boxers so there's more room to maneuver. He'd lean forward, licking his glistening lips, fist stroking the silken shaft and Joey would groan as golden sparks flickered behind his eyes.

He'd push Justin back against the chair's back, and the spread of the chair's arms is wide, but not too wide, and the thing is solid and heavy and impossible to tip, so Joey would climb up on it, imprisoning Justin between his splayed thighs, kneeling with one shin on either arm of the chair. At that angle, he'd loom over Justin, who'd be looking up at him, wide-eyed and surprised, maybe, at this unexpected shift. He'd have to hold onto the chair back for balance, but he'd be able to do it with one hand, and the other would be holding his cock at the base, guiding it to nudge the head at Justin's lips. It'd be just the right position. Justin's fingers would curl around the smooth length and his lips would part and in Joey would glide.

Taking him deep, too, and Joey can almost hear the low groan that would rip out of his throat. Justin is good, he's always good, and this would be just another thing he'd be good at. Joey'd pull his hips back, a little quickly, and Justin would make a curious sound and then Joey would push forward again and--

His head is spinning. He gulps in air. He can almost feel Justin's mouth closing around him as he drives in, the velvety heat closing on sensitive skin, Justin's sandpaper tongue gliding over the head, around the shaft. He'd have to make it clear, because Justin still might not be getting it, so he'd have a hand in Justin's hair, in those perfect soft curls, to hold him in place as his hips pushed forward again, again. Justin would make little mewls, helpless hungry sounds, deep in his throat, but he'd take it, take it all, and even though his hands would curl up around Joey's thighs (which would be shaking, tense with the effort of keeping him upright), it would be an acquiescing gesture.

Joey would start to move, then, panting in time with his thrusts. It would be easy, so easy, a natural rhythm, dumb instinct, to rock his hips forward, then roll them back, Justin's low whimpers and grunts spicing the already overheated atmosphere--

Joey's jolted back into reality all at once when a production assistant taps his shoulder and murmurs, "Mr. Fatone? We're ready for you." He swallows, intensely grateful for the black pants he's wearing, as he stands to head over to the empty chair.

As he sits down, a makeup girl hovering over him to make sure he isn't too shiny, he sees Justin flop down in the seat he just abandoned. He grins.

* * *

After the shoot, Joey considers suggesting that they all go out and do something, but he sees the weariness in Chris's face -- it's been a long day, between the interviews and photoshoots and meetings beforehand --- so he just says goodnight instead and collects his things, hops in his car and heads home, hoping to get in a decent night's sleep before rehearsal.

He sheds his shoes in the foyer, drops his bag and glances into the kitchen -- contractors still haven't finished putting in the tile floor, shit -- and then heads upstairs, down the winding hall to his bedroom. In the entranceway, he pauses; moonlight streams through the sitting room windows, silvering tousled hair, silhouetting the figure sitting in the leather chair closest to the bedroom door. Joey's smile splits wide and he steps into the room, yanking off his shirt, and the moonlight catches Justin's grin.


End file.
